


Own the Moment

by Ponderosa



Category: Pacific Rim (2013), The Unit
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Crossover, Cunnilingus, F/M, Face-Sitting, Fantasizing, Female Character of Color, Hook-Up, Horny Teenagers, Older Man/Younger Woman, Schoolgirls, Substitution, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 10:15:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ponderosa/pseuds/Ponderosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Academy student Mako Mori has a thing for her dad's best friend. Cue the arrival of some private security personnel and a man who may look a whole lot like Mr. Hansen but is conveniently without all the pesky morals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Own the Moment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quigonejinn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quigonejinn/gifts).



> Started for Porn Battle XV, finished for Rhod.

“He looks like your father,” Mako says, pointing to one of the men escorting a politician into the hangar bay.

Chuck gives a cursory glance at the knot of suits. “I guess,” he says, more interested in soldering LEDs than the senator and her fancy security breezing through. Sure, the lights were going to look pretty cool when they got the software hooked in and the rest of the component assembled, but--

Mako gives Chuck’s sleeve another tug.

“What?”

“I mean it. He _really_ looks like your father.”

Chuck shakes off her arm and hunches over the work table. “Great, maybe he’s my real dad and I can trade up.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Just because he’s nice to you….” Chuck mutters something darkly under his breath. The Americans pass by them less than ten meters and he doesn’t even care.

Mako sits up a little straighter when one of the men glances towards them. He’s shorter than the others, and his gaze travels intently over the wiring and half-built robotics. Mako only regrets staring when he peels away from the group, heading towards them with a swagger that seems more fitting for a flight jacket than a nicely tailored suit.

“What are you building there? Looks like a fighting robot.”

“Well it’s not a mini-Kaiju,” Chuck says, and Mako wishes he didn’t always make her feel like she needed to apologize for everything that came out of his mouth. At least she’s accustomed to it.

“There’s a cadet competition,” Mako explains. “It tests engineering skill and teamwork, and for the person controlling the machine it may demonstrate one’s capacity in processing a neural load similar to that of a jaeger.”

The guy smiles. “You know, back when I was your age there used to be robot fighting television shows and backyard competitions. People used to put their bots together in their garages, but they were simple little boxy things with hammers and saws, nothing like this. That thermal sensor looks pretty sophis--”

“What’s so interesting over here?”

Mako’s tongue goes thick when the man who looks a lot like Mr. Hansen but is definitely _not_ Mr. Hansen, comes over and slaps a hand down on his friend’s shoulder. “Ohh, bots.” he says. “Are you planning on tutoring these two fine cadets, Mr. White?”

“From the looks of it they don’t need any help.”

“We don’t,” Chuck says.

“But we would value your input, regardless,” Mako adds.

“Well, the only thing that I’m good at is languages,” Not Mr. Hansen says, “I’ve been told I’m a pretty cunning--”

“Don’t even finish that sentence, man,” Mr. White says, interrupting. He gives Mako an apologetic smile. “On that note, we’ll be going, but if I have time I’d love to come back and take a look at your schematics.”

“Please do. My name, sir, is Mako Mori. My partner is Chuck Hansen.”

Over his shoulder, Not Mr. Hansen gives Mako a wink and a smile.

It almost makes her feel as good as if he were the real deal.

When she and Chuck are alone again, Chuck grudgingly admits that yeah, the guy really does look like his dad. He doesn’t look like he hates wearing a suit though, Chuck adds, and Mako changes the subject.

She does it partly for Chuck’s benefit, but mostly because thinking about Mr. Hansen in a suit makes her _squirm_.

*

It’s eighteen hundred hours and Mako is in a stall in the women’s restroom near the K-sci labs. She has her coveralls unzipped to the waist and a hand down her underwear and no matter how quiet she tries to keep, the empty bathroom seems to amplify the sound of her breath and the frantic rub of her fingers.

She hasn’t been successful in keeping the image of Mr. Hansen--or his near-body double--wearing a suit out of her head. His dress uniform notwithstanding, she’s only seen Mr. Hansen in formal wear twice: for a Mark I pilot reunion photoshoot and once at her father’s firm insistence for some posh fundraising event. She hadn’t meant to spy on him getting ready for the fundraiser, but the door to the guest room had been open a crack and the way he’d stood there, shaking out the pristine white button-down and holding it at arm’s length with his fingertips like it was going to bite him, had made her stop and stare. 

She’ll never forget the way the light from the desklamp illuminated the hair on his chest and outlined the planes of his belly, or where the scatter of curling hairs picked up again beneath his navel and the way his pants sat indecently low without a belt slung through the loops.

Many times over in her imagination, he skips the fundraiser, but right now she’s picturing the man who looks very much like him. The man who wears a suit without looking ready to rip it off but talks like ground crew. The man who isn’t her father’s best friend, and whose pale eyes had skipped down to the neckline of her tank top before he gave her a smile that was more sly than kind.

She thinks of pushing him into one of the empty labs and the sort of smile he’d have when she laced her arms around his neck. He’d kiss her, properly, and lift her up onto a counter and--

The door to the bathroom creaks open and Mako’s hand goes still.

“Anyone in here?”

It’s him. It’s him and the air around her smells like cunt and she doesn’t manage to speak up before his footsteps are scuffling across the tile and he’s nudging the stall doors open like they do in the movies.

“I’m here, sorry,” she says, quickly wiping her hands and the wetness between her legs. She zips up her coveralls and flushes the toilet before realizing that staying in the stall after the water gurgled away was going to seem awkward.

“My apologies, Miss Mori,” he says, keeping a respectful distance as she exits the stall. “Didn’t mean to inconvenience you.”

She swallows hard, heart thudding-- _he remembered her name_ \--and washes her trembling hands. Behind her, she can see in the mirror that he’s resumed his check. Surely he knows the moment the door swings inward what she’d been doing in there. Better to own the moment than wonder if he’d laugh it up with his buddies once she was out of sight. “You could make it up to me,” she says, surprised at how evenly the words come out.

The last stall swings shut as his fingers slip away from the door. “Yeah?”

She twists in place, propping the heels of her hands on the counter. The way his gaze skips over her body gets her wet all over again. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t move a single step closer to her, but it feels like there’s a lot less distance between them somehow when his mouth twitches towards a smile and he says, “How old are you?”

“Old enough.”

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

“Eighteen,” she lies, smoothly.

“Can’t even buy a beer at eighteen.”

“You can in Japan,” she says, another lie. “But I’m not talking about you making it up to me with a beer. I could have a beer with any of the boys around here.”

“I’m on duty for another three hours and you don’t even know my name….”

Mustering all her courage and ignoring the reasonable voice of her conscience, Mako pushes away from the counter. “Well, I’ll be free when you’re free and you can tell me then. From here, two rights and a left into the yellow corridor. Door 44.”

Now he moves towards her, and his touch is featherlight on her elbow. “You have a schoolgirl skirt, Miss Mori?” he asks, in a near-whisper that’s ambiguously teasing.

Her heart is beating so quickly, she hardly hears herself say, “There’s only one way to find out.”

*

Once Mako is out the door and heading briskly in the opposite direction of the small knot of personnel waiting for an all-clear, she tries and fails to keep a grin off her face. She’s still breaking out into smiles--fuelled more by nervous energy now--when she’s back in the hangar where Chuck is grinding down a small piece of metal.

“Thought you were going to ask the Professor for--”

“I need a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” He looks up and sees her smile, and the twist of his lips says he doesn’t really need her to answer. He turns off the machine and pushes the goggles to his forehead. “Did Michael break up with his new fling? Are you guys back together?”

“Not exactly.”

“Who is it then?” he presses.

“Does it matter?” Mako perches back on her stool. Concentrating on their project for the next few hours is going to be difficult. “Please, Chuck, this is the last time I’ll ask.”

Chuck drops the goggles back over his eyes. “I doubt it. Just...don’t use my bed, okay?”

*

At five minutes past the hour, Mako is antsy and wondering if the man is even going to show. At ten, she’s fussing with the seams on her coveralls when she manages to sit still, and when she’s not giving in to the urge to look through the peephole on the door, she’s staring at the handle, waiting for it to turn.

She about jumps out of her skin at the quiet knock, and her palms are damp as she pulls the hatch open. Expecting the same dark suit jacket from earlier, for a flash-freeze of a moment, she worries that--as impossible as it is--she’s just opened the door to Mr. Hansen, but his look-alike is simply down to his shirtsleeves, cuffs undone and rolled back halfway up his forearms.

“Guessing this ain’t your room,” he says, gaze tracking her as she pushes the door shut and locks it.

“So?” Mako grabs up the bundle of clothes she’d brought with and hugs it to her chest. “Do you want to see me in this or not?”

“Oh honey, quicker you get into it, quicker you’ll be out of it.”

“So what do I call you?” she says, disappearing into the tiny bathroom and leaving the pocket door open an inch. Her heart is beating so loudly as she strips down, she’s not sure if she’ll even hear the answer.

“Today I’m Mr. Blue, same as those pretty streaks in your hair.”

Mako reaches behind to find the teardrop pull of the zip and tug it up; the skirt fits more snugly than she remembers. “Don’t I get a first name?”

When he doesn’t answer, Mako grinds her disappointment out like a spent cigarette. Remembering that his friend was Mr. White, she could respect that they were under operational codenames. These days with cultists everywhere, it was a reasonable measure of security, even on base.

Finished with the buttons on her navy blue blouse, Mako stands up straight as she gives the outfit a once over in the mirror. She hasn’t worn a school uniform since enrolling in the Academy, and while the skirt is official, the too-tight blouse isn’t--she might be the Marshal’s daughter, but she rarely has to dress up and it was the closest match she could find in her closet. Her boots don’t match the look either, but something tells her she’s the only one who cares.

When she pushes the heavy pocket door open and steps out, the low whistle he makes sends a shiver through her whole body. She does a slow spin that makes the skirt twirl around and settle back around her knees with the quiet whisper of cloth.

“Aren’t you a sight,” he says. He drops the textbook he’d been flipping through back onto Chuck’s cluttered desk and gestures for her to come closer.

The flood of adrenaline makes her fingers tremble even though her steps are steady. There’s a voice in the back of her head saying this is dangerous--wrong, even--but it goes silent under the heavy thump of her heart when Mr. Blue sidles up close, impossibly tall and with a low, purring sound in his throat. The first touch of his hand to the flaring pleats of her skirt makes her mouth fall open.

“You scared?” he says.

“Nervous,” she replies, which means almost the same thing but sounds a lot better.

He doesn’t inch the skirt up like she hopes, but drags the back of his hand over the front of her thighs, knuckles tracing the dip between her legs. “You don’t seem the type to get nervous often,” he says, voice whisky rough as he extends a finger and slides it up along the inside of her thigh. Fabric tickles her bare legs and her knees start to shake even before the light brush across her clit. Despite his flat American accent, with the register of his voice, he even manages to _sound_ like Mr. Hansen.

“I’m not,” she admits. She puts a hand to his chest before she thinks twice about it. She can feel the steady thud of his heart and the heat of his skin through the fine weave of the cotton. “Usually I get what I want.

Another delicious shiver runs through her when he tips his head back and looks down at her questioningly. “Must be true. You wanted me here, so you’re one for one. What else are you looking for, sweetheart?” He settles both hands on her hips. He doesn’t really wait for an answer before he leans in, not to kiss her but to put his mouth to her ear. Slowly, his hands slide towards her ass. His leg presses between hers. “Here’s what I think: Academy boys know how to spank it and that’s about it.”

Mako leans against Mr. Blue’s chest, and she curls her arms around his neck just as she’d imaged. He breathes a quiet laugh against the sensitive skin of her neck as she meets the pressure of his thigh eagerly. “Hand one of them a map,” he says, and now he’s lifting her skirt, fingertips sneaking up the backs of her bare legs, “give ‘em step-by-step directions, and they still wouldn’t know how to properly eat out a tight little pussy like yours.”

She doesn’t know what to say, so she runs her hands up to where his hair is just long enough to grab. “You do,” she says, half a question.

She feels Mr. Blue’s smile. “You’d better believe it.” He’s tracing the lace edges of her panties now, rough skin catching on the material with the same light scratch as his face on her neck. Mr. Hansen was almost always clean-shaven and the tickle makes her think of the last time he’d been on leave for more than a few days: He and Chuck had said some truly awful things to each other and Mr. Hansen had ended up spending more time at her and her father’s guest bedroom than here with Chuck. She tried being angry on Chuck’s behalf, but really she spent most of her time trying not to stare at his butt when he walked around in track pants practically the whole time.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a dog, Mr. Blue?”

He pulls back, levels her with the same sly smile that he’d worn in the main bay and says, “Woof.”

“Down boy,” she says, and chews on the inside of her lip when he sinks slowly down onto his knees. Grinning, he puts his mouth to the flat of her belly, damp lips sticking to the fabric of her blouse. The heat of his breath seeps through to her skin.

The more she looks, the more she can pick out all the ways in which he looks nothing like Mr. Hansen, but long months have dulled all but the sharpest details in her memory. From the heavy scatter of freckles to the paleness of his eyes and lashes to the color of his hair--just a bit more red than Chuck’s--it’s all close enough to make her believe in that coalfire hot space low in her belly that it’s Mr. Hansen who lets her sidestep and slip out of reach. She kicks off her boots, simple white socks bright against the dark concrete floor as she walks backwards in slow steps towards the bedroom. The way he watches her and the way he follows, shuffling a few steps on his knees before dropping to his hands like they’re playing a game--

There’s nothing doglike in the way he follows her. He’s all wolf. All predator.

Mako has never been so fucking turned on before in her life. She can hardly breathe as she crosses the threshold into the dark room that’s supposed to be a bedroom--it is, technically, in that there are an additional two bunks for Chuck’s father and his uncle, but Mako’s knows it’s pretty much storage space even when they visit.

Enough light filters in that she doesn’t bother reaching for the switch. Instead, she reaches under her skirt, pulling her underwear off and dropping it directly in Mr. Blue’s path. He prowls right over it, doesn’t even give it a glance, and before she knows it, he’s between her legs, his cheek rubbing along the inside of her knee. She plops down on the edge of the bunk-- _Mr. Hansen’s bunk_ \--as a sloppy lick wets her thigh and a soft puff of breath is the only warning before the hot wriggle of Mr. Blue’s tongue finds her cunt.

He stops far too quickly, pulling away with his mouth shining wet, and Mako can’t keep the startled, excited sound from escaping her throat when he starts stripping off his shirt. Unlike Mr. Hansen, his chest is nearly smooth, the sharp cuts of his muscles and an impressive amount of scars not lost under curls of hair. Mako scoots back on the bunk, her hands flying to undo the topmost buttons on her blouse. 

“That’s it, let me see those perky little tits of yours,” he purrs.

Every inch of Mako’s body aches to be touched, and already she wonders what his cock looks like, what it will feel like fucking into her. She doesn’t have to wait long to get an eyeful; Mr Blue stands up to toe off his shoes and socks and he quickly shucks his pants. With the way he’s tenting his boxers, he must be as eager as she is, and she can’t not stare at the outline of his cock as he drops back onto the bunk. She hugs the edge of the mattress that’s pushed up against the wall as he makes himself comfortable, and as he wads up a stray towel under his neck, he gestures for her.

“How about you sit on my face, babydoll,” he suggests, wide hands running up the curves of her body until he’s thumbing at the hard peaks of her nipples. “You ever crawled up on top of a man and fucked yourself on his mouth?”

Leaning over him, she shakes her head.

“Well, next time you fuck your pillow you’re gonna remember this.” He sits up enough to flick the tip of his tongue against her nipple and smacks her flank. “Come on, little girl, wrap those pretty thighs around my head. You’re nice and wet already, but I want you drenched.”

Mako swings a leg over him and hesitates. “I--”

“Now’s not the time to play shy. I’ve got you pegged. You get what you want because you take it, so c’mon, let’s see what you got.” Mr. Blue cups her ass, urges her to rise high on her knees and move forward. “You’ve already got me on my back, so get your knees around me like a high mount and just keep on going until you push that sweet pussy right on my face.”

Her heart stops for a second as she looks down at his waiting mouth, the smile there that’s as angled as his jaw. This is so very different than just a minute ago, or anytime really that she’s been laid out on her back with a tongue between her legs. This feels like it does on the mat: powerful and heady. The sudden thrill that goes up her spine is so hot it feels icy, and when her nerves settle down, the heat between her legs is molten. She shifts forward, just like he said to, feeling like she’s being pulled by the throb in her clit, and when she grabs his hair and goes right down onto his face, his muffled encouragement sinks into her skin like victory.

She fucks against his open mouth, rocking along the wide flat of his tongue, her skirt pulled up into her other fist so she can see it when she pushes forward all the way and his nose gets lost in the dark wisps of her pubes. She holds there, hard clit nudged up against the very tip of his nose, the thick curve of his tongue pushing into where she’s already dripping. Rocking against his face is a wild mix of sensation, the softest parts of her gliding against his mouth while his cheeks rasp against the very peak of her thighs. She resists the urge to buck wildly when her angle shifts and his mouth closes to suck lightly at her clit. Slowly, she fucks herself against the cushion of his lips.

When his hand strokes down her spine, she comes so, so hard.

Breathing ragged, she pulls back, shockingly turned on at just how wet she’s left his face. His own breath is chopped into little pieces, and as his mouth pulls towards a brand new smile, Mako presses forward again, grinding herself hard against him. She fucks herself without reservation this time, gets close to coming a second time before she sinks back onto her heels, her cunt pressing to the flat of his chest.

“You like that?” he asks, wiping his face. She can smell herself on his hand when he palms her breast, her own wetness rubbed into her skin.

“Yes,” she says, voice high and thin. “I’d like it even more if you’d fuck me now.”

He laughs, quiet and smoky. “Well, well, well,” he says, giving her nipple a light tug. “You _are_ a fierce one, Miss Mori.“

“Don’t forget smart. This is how you wanted me right, open and wet?”

“There’s a rubber in my pants pocket if you want to grab it.”

“For such a big dog, no one’s taught you how to fetch?” she teases, wriggling down until she feels the nudge of his cock before leaning over the edge of the cot to grab for his pants. He holds her steady as she reaches, but as she rights herself with the little square of foil caught between her fingers like a prize, his hands go straight back to wandering.

He’s got a thumb on her clit as she gets the packet open, and the only thing that gets her pulling away is how very badly she wants to get a look at him completely naked. With the tip of the condom held between her lips, she scoots down, and Mr. Blue props an arm behind his head instead of helping when she tugs his boxers off.

“Big enough for ya?” he asks.

It is, but Mako does her best not to show it. She’s only had sex with boys her own age except for once, and that had been rushed and awful and she hadn’t even gotten to see the guy’s dick before he was pushing into her. She’s pretty sure he was still smaller, and it’s not that Mr. Blue is porn-star huge or something, but the darkly flushed length of his dick is proportionate in a way that’s ridiculously pleasing in its aesthetics. If she’d had her phone, she might’ve asked to take a picture of him like this, stretched out beautifully, pale skin fading towards tanlines that overlap like watermarks on a shore. “We’ll see,” she says, bending forward to roll the condom on with her lips like she’d seen once in an online video. He runs fingers through her hair even after she pulls her mouth off and uses her fingers to finish. “You ready, Mr. Blue?”

He tucks her hair behind her ear before he grips the base of his cock, pushes it up away from his belly, and says, “Saddle up.”

She really is open and wet--very, very wet--when she eases down onto him. Mako bounces a few times to get her body to take more, and his hands feel impossibly big as he grips her waist to hold her still so he can fuck into her, hips coming up off the mattress in short jerks that make her tits jiggle. He likes it, she can tell, the way his cock forces that ripple through her flesh, and the way when he fucks in deep enough it drives a sound out of her.

“I’m not going to come again if you don’t let me--”

“Sshh, baby, don’t worry, I got you,” he says, and he shifts his grip, fingers still managing to hold to her hips as his thumbs gather the fabric of her skirt and reach towards her clit again. He pushes at her mound, spreading her open, and with the way his gaze fixes between her legs, she can tell that he’s watching his cock disappear into her.

He doesn’t rub a thumb on her clit directly this time, just massages her, and as much as she aches to feel him touch her directly, it’s almost like having his tongue on her again, slippery and feather light. She scratches at his chest, desperate with the need to do something other than meet the steady pound of his cock.

“Watch the claws,” he says, gaze skipping up to catch on hers. “You break it, you buy it.”

She wants to say something back like she doesn’t think he breaks easily, but she can’t find her voice. Her orgasm is building up again, tantalizingly out of reach, and the light from the other room is falling on his face _just so_. If she lets her lashes go just a bit heavy, her vision a bit blurred, she’s fucking Mr. Hansen in his own bed, and the vicious, naughty thrill of it makes her sink her nails into his shoulders and ride him that much harder. 

She comes just as hard the second time.

When he pushes her towards number three there’s a light sheen of sweat at his temples, and his chest is striped with angry red scratches. His cock is in her to the hilt, and she’s grinding down against him, muscles clenching as he grips her ass and urges her on with filthy whispers. “That’s it, Mako,” Mr. Hansen tells her. “You’re almost there and so am I. Gimme one more. I know you can. I want to feel you come one last time, you squeeze up so nice and tight.”

She’s folded over, panting open mouthed against his neck when she manages it, and the shaky sound she makes gets lost in his groan when he holds her in the trap of his arms and keeps her from moving. She feels every single hard pulse of his cock inside her, and she’s still struggling to catch her breath when she registers that the metal squeal isn’t the bed but the hatch in the other room.

“Someone’s coming,” she says, breaking out of his hold and scrambling for her clothes.

He moves just as quickly, shorts yanked on in a flash and leaping onto his feet. His pants are fastened before the sound of boots on concrete accompanies Chuck’s cry of, “Mako, I didn’t have a choice!”

She at least manages to get her blouse to cover her chest before Mr. White comes in. He averts his eyes immediately, spinning around and mercifully letting them both get the rest of the way decent.

“Change of plans, Mr. Blue, we’ve got to go.”

“Those scientists got into the Senator’s head, didn’t they?”

Mako sits on her heels at the far end of the mattress while she watches Mr. Blue finish getting dressed. He gives her a little eyebrow waggle and blows a kiss before flinging the towel he’d been using as a pillow towards her.

“Madam doesn’t want to be any less than a hundred miles from the shore,” Mr. White answers. He glances at his fellow serviceman when Mr. Blue taps him on the shoulder to say they could move out. Sotto voce, but still barely loud enough for Mako to pick up, she hears the, “You know that’s the Marshal’s daughter, right?” and Mr. Blue’s rueful, “Well, I do now,” before they’re gone like they’d never existed.

When her nerves calm down, she’s not overly surprised to find Chuck in the main room sitting on the edge of his desk. At his feet sits Max who hops up when he spots her, his entirely body wiggling. Even if the skirt reaches to her knees, it feels far too short--she’s naked underneath it, her panties lost somewhere in the scramble.

“ _Oooh, Chuck, he really looks like your dad,_ ” Chuck mimics in a high falsetto. He gives her a pointed look. “You’re gross.”

“Shut up. At least I didn’t use your bed.”

“Ugh. I almost wish you had.”

Mako carefully dips down to give Max a little scratch on the head before she disappears into the bathroom to change. “It’s not my fault you have a hot dad.”

“Okay sure, well, I’ll tell him you said that the next time he calls.”

“You do that and I will murder you in your sleep.”

_“Dear Dad, just writing to say that sweet, innocent Mako wants to bang you like a screen door in a hurricane--”_

She’s still blushing when she’s washed up and back in her coveralls and aiming the sternest look she can at Chuck. “They will never find your body.”

_“It’s too bad everyone knows you’d rather bang the Marshal--”_

“Eww, stop! That’s so wrong.”

Chuck smirks, “What was it you just told me, oh right: _it’s not my fault you have a hot dad._ ”


End file.
